


Can't Move Those Chains

by BryroseA



Series: I Fell In Love Again [2]
Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Canon - Movie, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:19:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BryroseA/pseuds/BryroseA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Our quarterbacks can't move those chains.”<br/>-- “Go Captain and Pinlighter,” Emperor X</p><p>After nine years of radio silence, Logan Echolls picks Veronica Mars up from the airport. A one shot Logan POV scene from the Veronica Mars movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Move Those Chains

Logan sits in the baggage claim waiting area at San Diego’s Lindbergh Field Airport, his gaze fixed on the Arrivals board. The old urge to fidget, to throw his body around and ease the pressure of the hard, plastic airport chair rises up in him. He suppresses the motion. _Be Stable Logan; be Adult Logan._  That will be his mantra for the next few days. 

Six years ago, when he'd finally decided to grow up and stop living—as he thought of it—the meaningless life of the undeservedly rich, being stable and adult had been a constant struggle. Always holding his mouth in check. Refraining from jackassery. Reigning in the smirk. These days it was second nature, not an act anymore, just who he was. He liked himself now, dammit; this was who he chose to be. This was who She would see. _Veronica._  

Carrie's death and his subsequent arrest had rocked the SS Stable and Adult big time. Minor freak out, and a panicked call to a long-ex girlfriend? Not exactly the hallmark of maturity.  _It’s understandable, though, under the circumstances_ , he thinks. _I can still right the ship._

His track record so far today is good. He conducted himself calmly throughout this morning’s meeting with the JAG Corps lawyers. Military protocol, rather than putting his back up, soothes him in some indefinable way. It gives him the fences and boundaries he lacked growing up and makes it easier to just _be_ , instead of lashing out at the world. His inner jackass very rarely makes an appearance in a military setting; which is a relief, when he thinks about it. 

Logan squints at the distant screen. _Ugh._ His head drops back and he stares at the ceiling in frustration. Her flight arrival time has been pushed back ten minutes. One of the mounted televisions behind his head is set to CNN and he can hear voices buzzing faintly out of the speakers. They’re talking about Carrie again; a retrospective of her career and downward spiral. Logan grimaces.

The shock of Carrie's death is fading, replaced with a numb sadness every time he thinks of her _. Poor Carrie._ She'd hate to be thought of like that, but he can’t help it. _Poor Carrie; never got the chance to claw her way out of her darkness._ He’s realized in the last few days how lucky he was to have that opportunity. In Carrie, he can see himself as he could have been, wasted and dead. It helps to push down the pity party when he’s tempted to wallow in it. _Another dead girlfriend? Could be worse, Echolls. You could be Carrie._ Logan knows he should be furious; ready to pound walls and smash jaws. Carrie was murdered and he’s a suspect—hell, he’s _the_ suspect. Instead he just feels sad. Sorry. Protective of what small amount of dignity Carrie has left. The only thing that makes him truly angry is the press. He can’t stand the way the news media speaks of her, faux sorrow thinly veiling an avid hunger for gossip and scandal.  

Really, Logan congratulates himself, he’s handling this well. ( _Since you called Her anyway.)_ Stable, adult Logan for the win.

He surveys the crowd, ruthlessly suppressing the urge to jiggle his foot. A heavyset man plops down into the next chair, sighing loudly and taking over the armrest.

Logan gets some looks from passersby. A few nods and smiles aimed at his uniform. A salute. Several creased, "do I know that guy?" faces. One of Logan’s favorite things about wearing his dress whites is that, when people look at him, they don’t see son-of-a-movie-star Logan Echolls, they just see a Naval officer. They’re still not seeing _him_ , but the association is definitely preferable.

He didn't strictly need to wear the dress whites for his meeting with JAG; in fact, the decision had garnered him some odd looks. His mother used to say it was never wrong to dress up, only to dress down. "Dressing up makes an impression, Logan!" ( _Who are you trying to impress?_ ) Probably it had been unnecessary to make that effort this morning. It's not like the JAGs had never seen a guy in uniform before. ( _She hasn't seen me in uniform._ )

He has - he checks his watch - forty-five minutes until Her plane lands. Veronica's plane. _Veronica._ He has to give himself permission to think her name. Saying it out loud still feels surreal and makes his stomach churn. It is as if the very act of forming those syllables whisks him back in time nine years to his angsty, self-destructive, younger self. 

He is _not_ going to let any of those feelings out while she is here. She is flying all the way across the damn country to help him. He can be stable and adult. 

Logan still can't quite believe he called her. Once upon a time she had dominated his every thought. The desire to pick up the phone would have been no surprise eight years ago—seven, six, or five even—but he did move on eventually. He'd changed his emergency contact information, which had been set to her for an embarrassingly long time after she fled Neptune. He'd chosen a career. Fallen in love. Grown up. And if he still kept her number in his phone and liked to stare at it from time to time? Well, that was more habit than emotion. Like a mental stone he kept in his pocket to pull out and rub occasionally. Thoughts of Veronica had largely faded in the last few years. _Of course they had_. He adjusts the jacket of his dress whites. 

After Veronica had hung up from his impulsive call, Logan had told himself that when she called back he'd tell her not to bother. _Don’t worry about dropping everything and coming out and... saving my ass, again. I’m an adult. I can handle it._  

But then, three hours later, there she was, calling him back. Reaching out. And it had been _so long_ since she'd done that. He couldn't bring himself to say anything more than "thank you" and "which airport is better for you?" and "thank you, again." 

That was three days ago. In the interim he's almost talked himself into this being a good idea. They never really had closure, all those years ago. This will be healthy. He'll be polite, stable Logan. They can part on good terms, and finally close the door fully. She’s coming all the way from New York; one of about three people in the whole world who believe he didn’t kill Carrie. _She does believe that, right?_

Logan—giving in—jiggles his foot and looks at his watch again. _Damn_. Still thirty-five minutes. Reunions are happening all around him. A little girl with wispy golden pigtails skips past, trailing a pink roller backpack emblazoned with "Going to Grandmas!" She flings herself at an elderly couple. Over by the escalator, a small blonde woman is tightly wrapped around a lanky man in Army Combat Uniform; her face buried in his chest, shoulders shaking.

Suddenly he needs to do something, anything, to speed the process along. The airport chair, the _ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk_ of the baggage carousel, it’s all too much. Logan springs up, then checks himself slightly, and heads at a more sedate pace down a long hallway to a ticket counter. 

He strides up to the desk. “I need one ticket on your next flight to …” _Where would be cheapest?_ “… Palm Springs, please.”

Logan feels a moment of unease as he hands his ID over to the ticket seller. He’s not supposed to leave the county. There’s no way his name would trigger some sort of alert, is there? He doubts the Balboa County Sheriff’s Department has that much on the stick, but still …

The nerves stay with him as he heads toward the security line. The woman manning the ropes sees his uniform and lack of baggage and tries to wave him to the head of the medium length line. He shakes his head. “No thanks, I appreciate it, but I’m not in that much of a hurry.” Minutes tick by. His heart pounds a bit as he approaches the head of the queue. _This is moronic. You’re doing this—risking this—what? Just to see her maybe a minute earlier? Not stable. Not mature._ _Bail, Echolls. Go back to baggage claim._

The TSA agents glace at his uniform and wave him around the metal detector. Logan is outwardly calm as he submits to a cursory pat down. They release him with a, “Have a good flight, Sir!” and he is on his way.

He strides through Concourse 2, glancing up at the Arrivals Board ( _Like you don’t know it by heart yet)_ and aiming for gate 14A. Five minutes to go.

Logan stations himself near the gate doors. Late afternoon sunlight streams in from outside as people jostle past. Across the concourse, two women have their heads together, whispering and pointing at him. He’s been spotted, despite the dress whites. Three minutes.

A conviction floods him; this was a stupid idea—the stupidest—asking her to come. Veronica brings out the worst in him and he in her, he thinks. He could never help wanting to push her buttons, dig at her, light her up and _make_ her respond to him. _It’s like I issued the inner jackass an invitation to come out and play. Not exactly what I need in the middle of a murder investigation. Stupid Logan._

He wants to run. His feet are nailed to the floor. One minute.

An influx of people comes through the door from the tarmac. This has to be her flight. His emotions boomerang wildly from dread to excitement and Logan finds himself scanning the crowd eagerly, barely restraining himself from stretching up on his toes. _Thank God I'm tall._ Where is she? _Veronica. Veronica._ Deplaning passengers shuffle past on rubber legs, dragging luggage and small children. _Is that...? No, not her. Veronica. Veronica. Ver—_

There she is.

She looks beautiful. She looks so _different_. God, no, actually she looks exactly the same. High heeled boots, New York gray coat, straightened hair. Just ... Veronica. 

He can feel a sappy smile starting as she spots him. "Hey there." _God, just look at her._

"Hi." She is nonplussed. _Score one for the dress whites._ They stare at each other as the crowd surges around them.

"Um" She startles out of the gaze and steps toward him for a hug. Their bodies are a careful distance apart. This doesn’t feel like Veronica.

A mischievous smirk lights her face. "You weren't planning on carrying me through the airport, were you?" _Ah, there she is._

"No, I just met with JAG Corps. Fun bunch of guys." He is drinking her in. Veronica is still goggling at him. _Yes. This is awesome. This feels amazing._

"I, um, I had heard, of course,” she says, gesturing at his uniform, “but I couldn't fully picture it." A small laugh. "You should only wear this, like, ever." _Who said this was a bad idea? This was the best idea I’ve ever had._

"Let me?" Logan takes her wheeled suitcase.

"How did you get through security?" She has her suspicious face on. God, he missed it. _Here it is; the opportunity for a snappy retort. Dig at her. Start it all back up_. The urge isn’t there, though. It just isn’t. He’s so happy to see her, she looks wonderful and he just feels … soothed. Electrified and so damn happy, but calm at the same time. Not jangly and on edge.

Expression open, he gives her the simple truth. "I bought a forty-nine dollar ticket to Palm Springs. Totally worth it." Her answering smile lights him up. _Uh oh._

They walk through the concourse and baggage claim in silence. Logan sneaks looks at Veronica. Once, he catches her sneaking a look back. _Friends. She’s a friend. Be stable. Be adult._

They exit the building and head for the parking lot. Veronica blinks sleepily at the glare.

 _Ask her. No, not yet, keep it light._ "How was your flight?"

"Good. I would have been fine in Coach, but, thank you." He would have chartered her a private plane if he thought she’d let him.

As they cross the sidewalk she tilts her face up to the warmth. "There's the sun. Do you ever get tired of all this amazing weather?"

 _Ok, not that light. Seriously, Mars? You can do better than that._ "Yeah and how about them Dodgers?" _Even stable, adult Logan gets to poke fun._ He scoffs, tone gently sarcastic."Look at us. Falling right back into our old rhythms." She shoots him a look. _Badass Veronica Mars is nervous. What do you know?_

In the parking lot, Logan leads Veronica to his car. The midnight blue BMW M6 convertible gleams dully in the afternoon sunshine. He touches the remote button to pop the trunk and Veronica stops short.

“Whoa.” She stares at the car in appreciation. “I mean, it’s not exactly a canary yellow XTerra, but this is pretty nice.”

“I’m glad you approve. I tried to buy a 1994 LeBaron, but the dealer said they don’t make those anymore?” His voice rises in a lightly mocking question and she rolls her eyes in response.

“I guess you felt the need…”

Logan quirks an eyebrow and fails to complete the quote. “First An Officer and A Gentleman, now Top Gun _._ Admit it; you spent the whole flight rehearsing naval movie quotes.”

“Pretty much, yeah. Just wait until I get to A Few Good Men _._ ”

Logan lifts Veronica’s bag into the trunk and they both slide into the interior of the car. _God, she really looks exhausted. She flew all the way across the country. Don’t spring anything heavy on her._ As they pull into the line of cars waiting to exit the parking lot he asks, “Do you need anything to eat? It’s past dinner, your time.” _Please say yes._

“No, I’m good. I’m not really hungry, more tired.”

“Yeah, the time change can hit you weirdly.”

“I’ve been cramming non-stop for the bar exam. I stayed up way too late last night. I just want to get home, see my Dad, and fall into bed. Unless … if you’re hungry I don’t mind…”

 _Yes, please._ “No, no. I’ve got a lot of food back at home. Let’s just get you to your Dad’s.”

That topic exhausted, they sink into silence as Logan merges onto the freeway from the on-ramp. He watches out of the corner of his eye while Veronica surreptitiously caresses the seat leather. _Ask her. You know you want to ask her. Just spit it out._ He mentally shies away from the subject. _What if she…_

Veronica breaks the quiet. “So, where is home for you?” Logan turns a quizzical face to her. “I mean… I was kind of surprised that you were still living in Neptune.”

“Oh, yeah. For the last two years I’ve had a place in San Diego; nothing too fancy, but close to base. The lease was up about a month ago. I knew my shore duty was ending soon and it seemed stupid to keep the place while I was deployed, so I’ve been crashing with Dick in Neptune.”

“Dick?”

“You remember.” Logan lets his face fall into the slightly vacuous expression that is his Dick impression and makes a “hang ten” sign with his hand

“Yeah, of course." Her tone is somewhat biting. "I just … I guess it’s good to know some things don’t change.”

“Dick has been a good friend to me.” Logan says, quietly but firmly.

Veronica stares at him, evaluating. “Sorry.”

“No worries.”

"You’re deploying soon?”

Logan accepts the change of topic. “Yep. Or, well, I’m supposed to. I’m scheduled to report in about three weeks. That’s partially what I was talking to JAG Corps about this morning.” He waves a hand at his dress whites. “I don’t have any idea what will happen if—when—this whole mess goes to trial.” _Ask her._

“Where are you going?”

“Top secret.”

She pauses. He can tell that what she says next comes out against her will. “Combat?”

“It’s always a possibility.” _Ask her._

Veronica stifles a yawn. He has been alternately looking forward to and dreading this ride for days. _This will probably be our only personal time; tomorrow will be packed with lawyer business. It has been nine years._ Logan watches as her eyelids flutter. “You know, you can sleep if you want to. Take a nap. I don’t mind.”

“No, no. I don’t want to be ru-rude.” She finishes the sentence gape-mouthed and slightly shamefaced.

“The yawn made that a less than convincing statement. Seriously, Veronica, I don’t mind.”

She smiles weakly and sinks down lower in her seat, wriggling into the leather for comfort. Logan swallows, hard.

Silence settles again, comfortable this time. _This is it, Logan. Drink this in. Veronica Mars in the passenger seat—_ his mouth quirks— _and quiet, for once._ The freeway curves to the west and reveals the glitter of the Pacific Ocean. The sun is just beginning to sink down, painting the sky with the lightest tints of orange and pink.

Logan maneuvers around a minivan trailing a camper trailer. He glances over into the passenger seat. Veronica’s eyes are closed, her breathing sliding into an even rhythm. He throws on the turn signal and eases the BMW three lanes over to the right, settling in with the dawdling traffic. _May as well take it slow; she needs the rest._ He edges the volume of the radio down and drives as carefully and smoothly as the Southern California freeway will allow.

“…Logan?” Her voice is heavy with sleep. Logan makes an encouraging, “mmhmm?” sound and she continues, “When you fly…you’re careful, right?”

 _Whoa_. He takes his eyes off the road and stares at her for a beat. Then, quietly, he responds, "Always.”

Veronica’s breathing evens out and she is down for the count.

 ______________________________________________________________

 

“Veronica.” Logan reaches out to shake her awake, but pulls back. _No touching. She takes the lead on that one._

“Mmm?”

“Veronica, wake up. We’re coming into Neptune and I need you to tell me where to drop you off.”

She comes to the surface in a rush. “Oh my God Logan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“No problem.” He drops his voice to a teasing whisper. “I hear drool is good for leather.”

Her hand flies to her mouth before she catches his soft smirk. _Ha. Got you._

“Har, har.” _She’s awake now, and rested._ _Ask her. Do it._ “Dad should still be at work. Can you take me to his office?”

“Of course.” He makes a swift lane change and gets ready to turn left.

She takes in the directional adjustment with puzzlement. “Mars Investigations moved a few years back. You know where it is?”

“Yeah.”

Veronica doesn’t seem to know how to process that piece of information. “Ok.” _Ask her._

It is nearly fully dark by the time they pull up to the street outside her Dad’s office. Logan parks the car and goes to retrieve her luggage.

“I imagine your Dad is pretty excited to see you.” _Ask. Her._

“I’m surprising him.” She takes the handle of her suitcase, ready to leave.

 _Ask her. Do it now or you’ll never do it, you complete and utter wuss._ He slams the trunk shut. “So, are you going to ask if I did it?”

There is no hesitation. “I wouldn’t be here if I thought you did.” He glances at her face; her expression is open and he can read nothing but simple truth.

Logan nods stiffly, then casts his eyes down and fixes them on the road; she doesn’t need to see how much that means to him.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, the first lawyer appointment is at 11:00, so a little before that would be good.”

“At Dick’s?”

“Yeah. I’ll text you the address.”

“Ok.” She moves in for another hug, this one slightly less awkward than the one at the airport, then turns and heads for the building. Logan watches her back until she reaches the door and then, hands shaking slightly, unlocks the car and heads home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying really hard to keep everything that is in the movie as canon as possible (although I'm sure there are mistakes). One deliberate break with what the movie shows: Veronica clearly does not fly in to Lindbergh Field, I'm guessing its supposed to be John Wayne or LAX. Since we have a cannon distance from downtown San Diego to Neptune (90 miles) that better fits the dark/light timeline and since I'm more familiar with Lindbergh Field I just went with it.


End file.
